Making the Band
by Pales Megami
Summary: [Slight Weiss Kreuz cross-over, lots of Gravitation cross-over] Chapter 5 is finally up ; Daisuke, Dark, Satoshi, and Krad are hired by Kritiker to take on an important mission. ... As a boyband! PG13 for naughty Kradders' potty mouth.
1. A Day at the Karaoke

Making the Band  
  
Pales Megami (Lady_Ako@hotmail.com)  
  
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz and all its characters belong to their respectful owners; they are not mine (damn it). D.N.Angel and all its characters belong to Yukiru Sugisaki; they are not mine either (damn it!). All rights reserved. And I have no money.  
  
R/R, please! ^^  
  
  
Chapter One  
  
  
  
The silence was broken only by the ticking of the clock.  
  
"*All* of you?" Birman finally spluttered. "You're telling that all four of you-- all four!-- are backing out of this?"  
  
"Yes." Aya coughed and wiped his streaming nose with a wad of tissues.  
  
"We're really sorry," said a rather wretched-looking Omi. "Really. But--"  
  
"We just can't do it," Ken finished. Yohji nodded fervently beside him.  
  
Birman was at a complete loss. What was she supposed to do when all four assassins backed out of a mission? A very *important* mission, at that? Kritiker had given her strict instructions to fully carry this one out, with a very meaningful "Or else." implied. She sighed. And it wasn't even like this mission was dangerous or anything. Hell, compared to every mission they'd gotten in the past, *this* one ought to be a breeze. The guys should have been jumping at the chance to accept rather than flatly turn it down...  
  
"Can you at least tell me *why*?"  
  
Aya coughed again. "Health related issues." The red-head let out another hacking cough and a sneeze as if to prove his point.   
  
"OK, so Aya has a cold. The rest of you can sing perfectly fine."  
  
"Sing, sure, but dance?" Ken waved a hand at his cast-encased leg. "Sorry. No can do."   
  
Oh, for the love of... "What's wrong with two people, then?" Birman was starting to feel a little hysterical. "I mean, look at KinKi Kids! And Savage Garden!"  
  
"Savage Garden broke up two years ago," Yohji pointed out.   
  
"I don't care!" Birman positively screamed with rage. "All four of you, and I mean *all four of you*, are going on this mission whether you like it or not! End of story! Or else!"  
  
  
*~*~  
  
"All four of them backed out?" Manx repeated in a disbelieving tone.   
  
"Yes." I hope that cold Aya has turns out to be the Ebola virus. "We're going to have to report to Kritiker and tell them they'll have to do it themselves--"  
  
"No," Manx interrupted sulkily. Miserably. "Kritiker's up to its ears with the Shizuhara case. And besides, "she added, quirking an eyebrow, "do you really think *Kritiker* can seriously carry out *this* mission?"  
  
Rather disturbing images floated around both women's heads.   
  
"No."  
  
"No."   
  
"OK, then," Birman sighed. She flopped wearily into the swivel chair opposite the red-head. "I guess the only thing left to do is to get replacements."  
  
"Huh. This sounds like that American movie with Keanu Reeves."   
  
"Manx, I'm serious. We can't turn down this mission; it's too important. It's the only way."   
  
Manx screwed up her face, feeling absolutely torn. "OK, all *right*," she snapped. "Replacements. Only one thing-- where are we going to get four guys who can sing and dance *and* are hot to boot?"  
  
*~*~  
  
"Dark, I am *not* going to the karaoke bar with you!"  
  
Daisuke Niwa and his kaitou counterpart glared death-daggers at each other from opposite sides of the room. Dark, in the process of putting on skin-tight leather pants, wobbled dangerously on one foot. What *was* the kid's *problem*? Damn pants... he struggled to get his feet through the proper pant legs. He *made* Krad promise not to kill anyone...  
  
"...me to do always end up a disaster," Daisuke ranted on. "I am *not* going to let you drag me into any more of your schemes. So there."   
  
"*Schemes*?" Dark's face turned a brilliant shade of red. "*Schemes*? This is *not* a *scheme*, Daisuke! It's an *invitation*. A *social opportunity*. So *there*."   
  
"Whatever. I'm still not going."   
  
Damn it! Dark may have made Krad promise not to kill anyone, but there was still the promise that he himself had made. The kaitou had a sudden mental image of a pair of icy blue eyes... gah! Fourteen year olds aren't supposed to be that creepy! Dark supposed that Daisuke was actually right-- this was a scheme, really-- but that was no excuse for not coming. Gritting his teeth, the kaitou tried again.  
  
"Why don't you want to come?" he weedled. "I mean, you've sung in front of your entire school, including Creepy Bastard. What's wrong with a karaoke bar?"  
  
"That's different." Daisuke paused. "And Satoshi and Krad are exactly 'what's wrong'."  
  
"I though Satoshi was your friend."  
  
"Yes, but Krad isn't. And besides, I know what'll happen. Krad will be trying to murder us both--"  
  
"I made him promise!"  
  
"--and cuddle Satoshi, and *Satoshi* will be trying to catch you, and *you* will be trying to get into Satoshi *and* Krad's pants." Daisuke glared again, then bent over his algebra homework, scribbling feverishly.   
  
Dark looked appalled. "Get into their pants?" he spat. "Daisuke. Please. If you want to talk like that, do it somewhere else."  
  
"Well, you would."  
  
"I most certainly would *not*."   
  
"Fine. Whatever you say."   
  
"The word is *seduce*, Dai-chan. *Seduce*." Jump into their pants... ha. He slipped his sweater, a deep, rich purple, on over his head. Daisuke was still scrawling algebraic equations; damn that kid. What am I going to tell the Creepy Bastard? Dark sighed.   
  
"Daisuke."   
  
No response.   
  
"Look," he continued nonetheless. "Just--just come. Please? Do it as a favor. For me. I really want you to come."   
  
Silence.   
  
Well, you can't blame me for not trying. Rolling his eyes exasperatedly, Dark wrenched open the bedroom door. He was just about to close it behind him when he heard the squeak of a swivel chair.   
  
"Dark... wait."   
  
Daisuke peered around the doorway, coat in hand.   
  
"OK. Let's go."   
  
*~*~   
  
The stench of beer and closely-pressed bodies was almost unbearable. Birman wrinkled her nose as she scanned the crowded bar. It had been Manx's idea to come here, and while it sounded good at the beginning, it seemed like a big mistake once they were actually in.   
  
"Manx..."  
  
"Hush. Yes, I *am* sure about this." The red-head popped some peanuts into her mouth. "It's the perfect place. There's bound to be some good catches here."   
  
Birman was tempted to retort with a scathing remark, but she kept her mouth shut. She had to admit, a karaoke bar was the perfect place. *A* karaoke bar. As in, any karaoke bar other than the one they were sitting in.   
  
For one thing, it seemed to be more of a teen hangout; an eighteen-and-under club-- that sold beer. Girls and boys alike, ranging from the seemingly innocent ten-year-old to the definitely not so innocent eighteen-year-old, danced and partied away. Birman wondered incredulously how some of these kids managed to hide their outrageous outfits from their parents; kids who showed *that* much skin ought to be arrested. Strobe and neon disco lights flashed on and off, illuminating the bar's occupants in eerie, almost frightening ways. Beer flowed; hips gyrated; more beer flowed. A boy of about fifteen, drunk nearly to the point of puking, stumbled past their table. A girl no older than twelve was sucking on his neck like a leech, dead drunk as well. Birman stared after them in shock; Manx ate some more peanuts.   
  
And then there was the singing, or lack thereof. Despite the fact that it was a karaoke bar, there was very little karaoke going on. Birman had a growing suspicion that the owners were actually running a big teen orgy and disguised it as a karaoke bar to waylay suspicion. The few brave, if somewhat drunk, souls who actually went up to the mic were absolutely *terrible*. No-- they were beyond terrible. They grated Birman's ear's. They made her want to run out into the forest and gruesomely kill cute, fluffy animals. And *enjoy* it. And the worse thing, and the *worse* thing was, OK, there was Manx just sitting there, cool as you please, eating those disgusting salty peanuts...  
  
*~*~  
  
"--to turn it *on*, you moron."  
  
"Oh, shut up."   
  
There was the nasal, earsplitting whining of the microphone. Daisuke winced, looking round the crowd in embarrassment. Nobody had noticed; or if they had, they simply didn't care. The red-headed boy sullenly turned back to Dark wrestling with the microphone stand. He was starting to regret his decision to come along. In fact, he had started regretting it even before they'd stepped through the door. The trip from home to the karaoke bar had not been a pleasant one. Dark nearly got himself run over while attempting to flag down a taxi, which set him a rotten mood that lasted the entire ride to Hiwatari's apartment. He perked up considerably when Satoshi and Krad emerged: Satoshi in a button-down grey shirt-- half unbuttoned-- and tight-fitting jeans; Krad dressed entirely in white leather. Daisuke sat stiffly sandwiched between Satoshi and Krad, while Dark enjoyed the privilege of the front seat. All four were silent the entire time; the tension in the atmosphere threated to snap at any moment. What with Krad sending blood-curdling, poison-filled glares in his direction and Dark continually glancing hungrily at both Satoshi *and* Krad, Daisuke wanted to break down and cry-- before flinging himself out the taxi window, of course.  
  
Somehow, everyone made it out of the taxi alive, well, and sane, much to Daisuke's dismay. If he thought the ride here was bad, actually being here was ten times worse. The other three, however, were completely unfazed by the chaos ensuing around them. In fact, they seemed rather bored by it. ~Why did you agree to come?~ Daisuke lamented for the hundreth time. ~Why? Aren't you supposed to be *smart*?~   
  
"Hey, Dai-chan." A grinning Dark gave him a light bop on the shoulder. "Ready to make everyone feel your breeze (1)?"   
  
"Oh, definitely," he snapped.   
  
"Great. Hold on, gotta get Creepy Bastard and Kradders. Tell the DJ person to start the music. We're gonna make Johnny proud (2)."   
  
*~*~  
  
Birman squinted at the stage. Was that-- yes, there definitely some movement on the stage. Four people, it looked like, one of them losing a battle to the microphone. She nudged Manx.  
  
"Manx... I think someone's going to sing."  
  
"Oh, gods no. Don't they sell ear plugs in here or anything?"  
  
Birman glared at her friend. "Manx, it was *your* idea to come here. We're supposed to be scouting for talent, not eating peanuts and drinking booze."   
  
"Talent? Where? Birman, the last 'singer' practically made my ears bleed." Manx sulkily crammed some peanuts into her mouth. "Come on. We're leaving. I can't take this crap anymore."   
  
"But-- but--"   
  
"No. Come *on*--"  
  
"iI say..."  
  
"Feel your breeze..."  
  
"Any time, any where, in my heart..."/i  
  
The two women immediately stopped bickering. Birman snapped her head in the direction of the stage, hardly daring to believe her ears.  
  
She heard singing. Good singing. *Excellent* singing. It was really, actually, truly *singing*.  
  
i"Feel your breeze..."  
  
"Never stop walking on, whoa~"/i  
  
Birman grabbed Manx's unresisting arm and shoved her way through the sea of bodies, towards the stage, towards the glorious singing. Unfortunately, everyone else in the bar had the same idea in mind. Fights and scuffles broke out as they struggled to get as close to the stage as possible. Finally, with several sharp jabs with her elbow and kicks of her high-heeled feet, Birman managed to break free from the mass and find an empty spot right in front of the singers. She looked up; Manx did the same. Both women's jaws dropped.   
  
About a foot in front of them, on the stage, were four guys crooning and dancing to V6 in perfect harmony and synchrocy. They could sing. They could dance. *And* they were hot to boot.  
  
"Manx..." Birman tightened her grip on her friend's arm, never taking her eyes off the singers.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking."  
  
"*Yes*."   
  
"Good. You take the back door; I'll take the front. Knock them all unconscious if they try to leave."   
  
  
=End chapter one=  
  
A/N: (1) Referring to V6's recent single "Feel Your Breeze." It's a cute song; the music video is even cuter ^_^ I have the mp3, if anyone's interested. Just email me.   
(2) Referring to Johnny's Junior (I *think* that's the name-- could be Johnny's Entertainment. Or something.), which is the company that produces V6.   
  
Wow. This chapter alone took me three months to write x_x It's long; and it sucks. Sorry. If anyone comes up with a cure for writer's block... :P Anyway. About the fic. This is just a silly fic that was inspired by a comic my sister drew, in which the Backstreet Boys hired the Gundam Boys to become a boy band in order to infiltrate an enemy headquarters. Instead of the Backstreet Boys, I have the Weiss boys, and replaced the G boys with the four bishies of D.N.Angel. Hopefully, the following chapters won't take such a long time to write. Reviews are gladly appreciated, and will help speed up the writing process. ::cough cough:: ^_- 


	2. Tag!

Making the Band  
  
by Pales Megami (Lady_Ako@hotmail.com)  
  
Disclaimers: Usual disclaimers apply.  
  
------------------  
A/N: Part two of the silly creation of my sleep-deprived, insomniatic mind ~_~ Be a sweetie and click on the "submit review" button, hey? And no, this chapter did *not* take me three months to write. Buck-Tick does wonders for the mind. Just a note: to everyone who's patiently waiting for the next installment of my Bishie fic-- I'm so, so, *so* sorry (Neko-chan. Kiko-chan. ;_;) I'm trying my hardest to get the next chapter finished. I haven't given up; it *will* get done. But. On to the fic~   
------------------  
  
Chapter Two  
  
------------------  
  
"iI say.../i"  
  
ohmygodohmygod  
  
"iFeel your breeze.../i"  
  
ican'tbelievei'mdoingthis  
  
"iAnytime, anywhere, in my heart.../i"  
  
iwannagohomeletmegohome  
  
"iFeel your breeze, never stop walking on, whoa~/i"  
  
The wide assortments of lights in the karaoke bar shined brightly on the four singers, but nothing burned more brightly than Daisuke's Niwa's face. All those people, watching them, *staring* at them, as they busted their much-practiced V6 dance grooves. Step, step, turn, step, wiggly-thing with the hip... it was humiliating. The only comfort Daisuke had was the knowledge that nobody he knew was in there. Well, nobody except Hiwatari, but he didn't count. If he didn't know better, Daisuke would have thought his taciturn classmate was actually *enjoying* the attention they were getting. He could have sworn he saw Satoshi's mouth twitch when all the girls squealed loudly at his solo.   
  
All? No, not all the girls. Two of them-- women, really-- a red-head and a black-haired woman next to her didn't squeal at all. They simply watched, unmoving, in intense concentration, throughout the entire song. It was rather unnerving; like they were being... studied, or something. Daisuke couldn't tear his eyes away from the watching women. They, in turn, never took their eyes from him or his companions, either.   
  
The final guitar chords echoed and died in the air. There was a brief silence, then an explosion of noise as the audience showed their drunken appreciation. Daisuke took a few hasty steps backwards as a mob of girls clambered onto the stage. The two women turned to each other, whispering urgently and excitedly. Every so often, one of them would glance back at them, then turn back to her partner. Sidling over to a smirking and waving Dark, Daisuke grabbed the kaitou's hand and virtually hauled him away, off the stage.   
  
"Shut up and *move*," he commanded, ignoring Dark's irate protests. A quick look backwards confirmed that Satoshi and Krad were following right behind them. Good; that meant Daisuke wouldn't have to fight through the throng of girls to fetch them later. Quickening his pace, he headed towards the men's restroom and slipped through the door.  
  
"Daisuke." Satoshi panted lightly, quietly closing the bathroom door behind him as he followed Krad inside. "What's going on? Why are we hiding here?"  
  
"Those women." Daisuke was met with blank stares. "Didn't you see them? Those two women?"  
  
"Those two women, out of a hundred other two women?"   
  
"Shut up, Dark. *Women*. Not girls. One of them had red curls, and the other had black hair in a pony-tail."  
  
Satoshi looked at the ceiling, thinking. "Ano... I think I know who you're talking about. They were right in front."  
  
"Well, what about them?" snorted Krad.  
  
"They were... odd. They kept watching us, like they were studying us or something." Daisuke shuddered. "I dunno. They just kind of creeped me out."   
  
Dark straightened up from his leaning position against the wall. He slapped Daisuke on the back, grinning.   
  
"Ah, don't worry about it, Dai-chan," he trilled. "They were probably just completely taken by how hot we were." Dark opened the door. "So, are you all coming or what? I bet all the girls are still waiting for us out there."   
  
*~*~  
  
"Where did they go?!" screeched Manx.   
  
"How am I supposed to know?" Birman snapped back. "I can't see a thing through all these crazy girls."   
  
Shit! How could she have been so stupid? She took her eyes off the four singers for a *second*, and now they'd lost them. Temper rising like mercury, Birman forefully elbowed aside a chunk of the crowd.   
  
"You bitch!" she heard one girl shriek.   
  
"Oh, shut *up*!" Birman snarled, and gave the brat a sharp kick to the knee. Leaving the now sobbing girl to tend to her injured leg, the Kritiker agent scanned the bar frantically, mentally crossing her fingers she'd catch site of any one of the four singers.   
  
"There!" Manx was waving her arms, pointing to a side entrance. "They're headed toward that exit over there!"   
  
Score. A couple more kicks and elbow jabs got Birman to Manx's side; she didn't dare let her eyes stray from the four distant figures this time.   
  
*~*~   
  
The sight of the two weirdo women doggedly pushing their way closer was very, *very* frightening. The expressions on their faces-- Dark grimaced; he now understood what Daisuke was babbling on about. He felt like they were being persued by a pair of bloodhounds who wanted more than just their autographs.   
  
"Hurry up, hurry up," the kaitou hissed to the other three. Damn; the women were definitely catching up to them. Come on, just relax, Dark silently reassured himself. You're going to get out of here just fine. You're almost at the door. Almost there. Just a couple more feet--  
  
"Excuse me."  
  
What the fuck? How'd they get here so fast? "Run!" he bellowed. Just as he was about to make a dash for the exit, he felt a hand close around his wrist.  
  
"No, you will *not* run away," said a woman's voice. Deep; sultry; stern; commanding. "You will all be coming with me."  
  
The pony-tailed woman was blocking the exit with her arms crossed. Daisuke looked back at his kaitou counterpart, his face helpless, and shrugged. Damn! Openly attacking their captors was not an option. Dark never hit girls, which included grown women. And these didn't look dangerous. Weird, yes, and a little creepy, maybe, but certainly not wanting to hurt them. Dark craned his neck to look at his captor. It was the red curly one. Cute, he thought with a grin. Definitely good in bed.   
  
"Please. You must understand," she was saying. "It is imperative that all four of you come with us."   
  
"Oh yeah? Why?"  
  
The woman shook her head. "I can't explain here. Please. You need to come with us."   
  
"We won't hurt you," Pony-tail Woman assured them. "We're not bad or dangerous or anything. We just need to ask a favor. ... A very big favor," she added.   
  
Dark stared. It wasn't that he didn't trust the women; it was more he didn't trust the whole situation. The "favor" they were talking about sounded pretty big, pretty important. Top-secret. Was it something for the government? Like the American CIA or something?   
  
"Daisuke?"   
  
"I..." The boy still looked a little shaken, but a lot calmer now. "I think-- I think it's OK. I mean-- I trust them."  
  
"Satoshi?"  
  
"I agree with Niwa-san," the blue-haired boy answered. "It's safe. Relatively safe, anyway."  
  
"And Krad?"  
  
"Whatever. As long as Satoshi-sama doesn't get hurt, do whatever you want."   
  
Dark sighed. "All right. We'll hear you girls out."  
  
"Excellent." Pony-tail Girl smiled briefly, then beckoned with her finger. "Please follow me. We're giving you a ride to Headquarters. And please be quick; there's a great deal to discuss."   
  
*~*~  
  
Within a few minutes, the party of six were seated comfortably, if not a bit nervously, in an expensive-looking car, European by the looks of it. It wasn't exactly a limo, but it wasn't any normal car, either. Sort of like a limo-car hybrid, black and shiny and classy. The car confirmed Dark's suspicion that the women were important; probably involved in some government agency, or similar. After signalling the driver they were ready to leave, the red-headed woman faced the four guys across from her.   
  
"I realize we haven't been formally introduced," she began. "My name is Manx, and this is Birman."  
  
"We are involved in a top-secret organization called Kritiker."  
  
"Kritiker?" Satoshi interrupted, eyebrows raised.  
  
"Yes. If you've heard of it, we'd be both extremely surprised and extremely suspicious."  
  
Satoshi shook his head. Manx smiled.  
  
"Kritiker has been assigned a mission of utmost importance," she continued. "Unfortunately, the group we'd normally call on to complete this mission is... unavailable at the moment."  
  
"This group being...?"  
  
"Weiss. Perhaps you've heard of them?"  
  
"Oh..." All turned to look at Daisuke. "Aren't they the assassin group that was involved with the whole Takatori thing?"  
  
"Yes, they are." Birman sounded impressed. "Weiss is the group employed by Kritiker to carry out their missions. But, as I said, they are unable to accept the mission assigned to them."  
  
"So, how does you two kidnapping us figure into the whole thing?" Dark inquired.  
  
"Kidnapping?" laughed Birman. "Does it really seem like we're kidnapping you?"  
  
"Just little."  
  
"Well, hear us out, and you'll think otherwise." She laughed again, and settled back against her seat. "Kritiker has recently caught wind of a dangerous conspiracy linked to very prominent members of the entertainment industry. They are not sure of the plans exactly, but they have, according to what little information they were able to obtain, concluded that it involves murder. Several murders, in fact."  
  
"Murder? Of whom?"  
  
"We're still not sure. That's what Weiss was sent to find out. Kritiker needed them to infiltrate the company's headquarters and retrieve detailed plans of the conspiracy. As they are unable to accept the mission, we needed you four--" Birman looked pointedly at the four guys-- "to take on the mission instead."  
  
"Whoa. *Whoa*." Dark leaned forward. His mouth was twisted in a wry half-smile. "From what you've told us, Kritiker deals with a lot of heavy-duty stuff."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"And they assign missions to Weiss, who is a group of *assassins*?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Ok, so..." Dark laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. "You want *us* to do the job of *assassins*?"  
  
"Oh, no, it's not what you think," Manx said hastily. "This mission, though very important, is not typical of Weiss' ordinary missions at all."  
  
"Please; do tell."  
  
"There is no assassin-type skill involved. You will not need to fight anyone, go undercover, nothing like that. In fact, all you really have to do is exactly what you did in the karaoke bar fifteen minutes ago."  
  
"What, *sing*?"  
  
"Yes. What we need you to do is pose as a new boy band."  
  
There was dead silence.   
  
"WHAT?!" Dark exploded. Satoshi and Daisuke simply sat, totally stunned. Krad shook with suppressed laughter. "You want us to pretend to be-- to be-- V6? Or Chemistry? What the fuck kind of mission is this?!"  
  
"An important one. This conspiracy is huge; many, many lives are in danger, and they are being threatened by a company who has vast influence and popularity among the public."   
  
"Yeah? And what company is this, exactly?"  
  
"This company," Birman replied seriously, "is a music industry."  
  
"..."  
  
"The company we need you to infiltrate is called NG Studios."  
  
------------------------  
  
END chapter two  
  
------------------------  
  
A/N: Whoo~ Plot twist! I bet you didn't see that coming, did you? ^^; I've suddenly gotten into writing cross-overs. There are two sitting in my computer, and another one is being fleshed out on paper. Anyway-- I realize now that both Manx and Birman are horribly OOC. Sorry; it couldn't be helped. I needed to do it for dramatizational purposes. Or something. I also realize poor Satoshi and Krad don't have much to say. That will be changed in the upcoming chapters. This chapter, by the way, only took me four days to write. I'm so proud of me. Of course, that meant me sacrificing *school work* time for fanfic time, but really. School can just kiss my ass :P Comments and criticisms (*nice* ones) are gladly appreciated. Now, on to cranking out the next chapter... uh, I mean... working really hard on my homework ::shifty eyes:: 


	3. Just a Little FYI

Making the Band  
  
Pales Megami (Lady_Ako@hotmail.com)  
  
Diclaimer: Usual disclaimers apply. R/R, please ^_^  
  
  
Chapter Three  
  
  
~The name of the company is NG Studios.~  
  
Daisuke felt... lost. Betrayed. He didn't want to believe it, but his brain was screaming that he had to. Manx must be mistaken-- right? Kritiker must have the wrong company-- right? NG Studios... He shook his head. Dark had been unusually quiet, of which Daisuke was glad. The two hadn't talked much since arriving home, the ride courtesy of Kritiker's stretch limo. Daisuke had listlessly dodged his mother's curious inquiries with curt, monosyllabic answers. Thinking her son caught the flu going around, or quite possibly going through some male version of PMS, Emi had left her son alone, shut up in his bedroom.   
  
He picked up a CD case, scratched and dirty with frequent use.   
  
"What the hell is this?" he suddenly blurted out. "It's just... I mean..." Daisuke waved the CD case in the air. "She made a mistake. Kritiker's got the wrong company. Or somebody's playing a really, *really* bad joke on us--"  
  
//Daisuke, shut up and use your head.// Dark's voice held a bite of impatience. //This is *real*, Daisuke, Kritiker have not got the wrong people, and you know it.//  
  
And he did. He really did. He knew it all along. He just didn't want to.  
  
//But you know,// Dark went on, in a much gentler tone, //given the slim chance that this just may be all a fluke, it's our job to sort it out, hey?//  
  
"..."  
  
//Besides. It would be the perfect opportunity to meet a certain pink-haired pop star whose face is plastered all over your wall.//  
  
"..."  
  
//So... you'll do it, right? You're goinna do the mission?//  
  
"..."  
  
//Good.//  
  
*~*~  
  
He wished very much that Aya would put the sword away. Daisuke eyed said sword nervously; who did Aya-san think would attack them in his own *basement*? Oops, not basement-- *secret headquarters*. Daisuke and his fellow soon-to-be band members were assembled there, at Birman's request. She had Manx were going to give them detailed instructions and elaborate more on their bizarre mission. Daisuke had seriously considered skipping out. He would have, too, had not Satoshi showed up at his door to make sure he didn't.  
  
As for the Weiss members, Manx insisted that they attend the meeting as well, to help out. Ken and Omi happily agreed, but Aya simply scowled and savagely jabbed the roses he was arranging into a vase. His bad mood was still present when Daisuke and the others showed up at the door and seemed to have increased since then. Yohji remained indifferent, though he was obviously dismayed at the lack of females in the group. He kept throwing them scandalized looks from his seat in the armchair. Dark swore over and over again to Daisuke, however, that the playboy was "so giving Creepy Bastard pervy looks."  
  
//Well, he *is*. What a pedo.//  
  
/... Shut up./  
  
"Oh, good. You're all here. Sorry we're so late."  
  
They looked up. Birman and Manx had finally arrived, and now took their places at the front of the room. Birman was cradling a large stack of papers, which she placed on the coffee table.  
  
"As you know," she said as she sorted through her papers, "You will be posing as a boyband to infiltrate NG Studios and collect as much information as you can pertaining to the conspiracy. Luckily for you--" She looked pointedly at the Weiss replacements. "--the opening act for Bad Luck's concert unexpectedly canceled. Kritiker has arranged for you boys to fill in," she finished smugly. "It'll be the perfect opportunity to catch Seguchi's attention."  
  
"Excuse me." All heads turned to look at Satoshi. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but according to very reliable sources--" Daisuke felt his face turn red and avoided Satoshi's gaze. "--this concert is scheduled for the twentieth. Next week."  
  
"NEXT WEEK?" spluttered Dark. "You can't expect us to be ready by *next week*! We don't know our songs, our dances, we haven't practiced, we don't know what the fuck we're doing--"  
  
"Oh, it won't be a problem, don't worry," Manx hurriedly interrupted. "It's all here; we've got everything planned out. Your songs are written, your dances choreographed... it'll be fine," she said to eight doubtful faces. "Here, it's all in these packets."  
  
Manx passed out a stapled packet, one for each member. Flipping through it, Daisuke found everything Manx had mentioned, and more: Emergency codes and numbers, tips and guidelines, maps, profiles of both Kritiker and Weiss members, target profiles, band details, and very explicit, detailed mission instructions.  
  
"And here," added Birman, passing out another stack of packets, "Is your song repotoir and choreography. Any questions?"  
  
Krad raised his hand. "I have a question."  
  
"Krad?"  
  
"Why the *fuck* is our band called 'Pathos Missing Starfish'?"  
  
The entire room sweatdropped.  
  
"Eh heh... um..." Manx scratched her head, completely at a loss for words. Yohji, you bastard... You told me you had a brilliant name! "You see..."  
  
"Hey, Dark." Daisuke was peering closely at his packet. "If you abbreviated our band name, it would be--"  
  
"What?! What'd I do?" Yohji yelled as five pairs of eyes glared at him.  
  
"This is never going to work," spat a rather phlemily irate Aya. "It is unfathomable to me as to why Manx and Birman would trust such unruly, ridiculously inept hooligans to a mission as important as this. We should all just accept the mission regardless of personal health factors."  
  
"Oh, Aya-san." Omi smiled and patted the Weiss leader's arm reassuringly. "It'll be *fine*; don't be so silly. Daisuke and the others will do wonderfully, I'm *sure* of it."  
  
"Really." Krad chose this moment to chuck both his packets at Yohji's head.  
  
"Yup; I'm *sure* of it."  
  
*~*~  
  
K showed no sign of annoyanced as he meticulously polished his rifle. In fact, his face gave away no trace of emotion at all. This was extremely worrying for the unfortunate Sakano.  
  
"Tell that to me again," he finally said.  
  
Sakano laughed nervously. "Well, you see--" He was all too aware of the very, *very* big gun in K's hands. "Aucifer... the opening act... they canceled."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Um. They canceled."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"And, um, but-- but we found another band to open for us."  
  
K gave his gun one last loving polish. "You did. And who is this replacement band you found?"  
  
"They're called..." Sakano quickly consulted a sheet of paper. "...Pathos Missing Starfish."  
  
There was a pregnant pause. K mulled over the name, stroking the barrel of his rifle in, for Sakano, the most disturbing way. The manager prayed to every god he could think of that K wouldn't soon be stroking the trigger.  
  
"Excellent!" The American beamed, tossing his mass of blonde ponytail. "Tell them I'm looking forward to hearing them next week."  
  
"You... you approve?"  
  
"Of course. Now, if you'll excuse me." K placed the now gleaming rifle on his desk; he then took out what looked like a magnum-- the kind that looked like it was used to shoot things no smaller than a killer whale. Sakano backed out of the office, slowly, and quietly shut the door behind him.  
  
To be continued...  
  
A/N: Took a while, I know; sorry XP I actually had it all written in my notebook, but never quite got around to typing it up. The ending kind of sucked. I didn't know how to end it without going on and on forever without actually going anywhere, so... yeah. I'd appreciate any feedback at all, so don't hesitate to click that review button ^_- Any song requests you'd like our PMS boys to sing? Provided I can find the lyrics, of course? ^^; Oh-- and before I forget, I apologize profusely to all you Gravi fans out there for my blatant OOC-ness for Sakano and K. As I'm only familiar with the series through internet and manga translations and have never actually seen the series (yet), I do realize they are horribly characterized. _ 


	4. Cool Like Plastic

Making the Band  
by Pales Megami (Lady_Ako@hotmail.com)  
  
A/N: Eh. Late again, as usual. I guess the lengthiness makes up for the tardiness, somewhat. Maybe not x_x; R/R, please ^_^  
  
Disclaimers: Usual disclaimers apply, I have no money, yadda yadda yadda. Lyrics found at animelyrics.com; Gackt and all his property belong to himself. And I am forever indebt to the person who suggested the song used in this chapter-- ingenius. Lots of Skittles for you.  
  
Chapter 4 -- Cool Like Plastic  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
K looked up, glaring, from polishing his belived magnum at the sound of the opening door. Sakano sidled in, already trembling with anticipated fear. Of all the people in the world he could be late for, it just *had* to be Seguchi Tohma and K. Not *just* Tohma, which made Sakano want to piss in his pants. And not *just* K either, which made Sakano want to piss in his pants and jump out the window. Oh, no. It had to be both. He wondered if he'd brought a change of underwear.  
  
"You're late," K mildly accused as he scrutinized the shininess of the gun barrel. Pretty shiny, he decided. But not shiny enough. He resumed polishing with renewed vigor.  
  
"I-- I--" Damn. How about a change of pants?  
  
"Did anyone see you come in?" Tohma interjected. Sakano shook his head vigorously. "Good. Ah, I see you have the... documents. Thank you very much." Tohma smiled in what *he* thought was a warm and friendly manner and took the stack of papers from Sakano's shaking hands. Spreading them out over the desk, he examined them closely with critical eyes. K strode over from the office window to read over his shoulder.   
  
"And you're positive you haven't breathed a *word* to anyone?" the American demanded, not taking his eyes from the documents.  
  
"Yes," squeaked the producer. K waved his magnum in the air; Sakano understood the implied message very, *very* well.   
  
"So our precious Shindou Shuichi really has not the slightest clue." Tohma allowed himself an amused smile.  
  
"N-- No, sir."  
  
"And Hiro?"  
  
"No, sir. Or Suguru, either, sir," Sakano added, anticipating his boss's unasked question.   
  
"What fun. Thank you very much, Sakano. Shuichi, you sweet, naive little boy..." Seguchi Tohma, keyboardist of the famed Nittle Grasper and patron of fabulous hats, turned in his chair to gaze out the window, humming ever so softly.  
  
*~*~  
  
It's not fair. Daisuke's reflection pulled a face. He was fourteen. He was a teenager. And yet puberty had painfully let him down. So his voice tended to crack. *Still*. That didn't mean Satoshi couldn't sing soprano, right? And so what if he was a good couple of inches shorter than the others? He should still have a chance at *some* of the solo stuff...  
  
"Niwa Daisuke. If you don't stop making faces in that mirror, I will take it away and smack you with it."  
  
The red-head pouted at his counter-part resentfully. And he *certainly* didn't like the idea of being whipped by someone who was, technically, supposed to be himself.  
  
Dark pouted right back. "What? What are you making faces at *me* for?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Nothing?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
Dark rolled his eyes and turned back to his make-up. Eyeliner was *such* a bitch to put on... just like little Dai-chan could be *such* a bitch to deal with. Guys didn't get PMS, did they? Dark paushed, left eye half lined. He'd never had the mysterious "birds and th bees" conversation every teenager seemed to be subjected to. He'd have to remember to ask Manx later.  
  
The newly christianed Pathos Missing Starfish was crammed into the broom closet-turned-backstage room with forty-five minutes until showtime. The six days leading up to the concert date was like a stroll through hell. Upon their first day of training, Krad nearly popped a blood vessel when he saw the band's opening number. The flowershop, and quite possibly the entire neighborhood, was saved from certain death by a quick-acting Satoshi, though the horror painted on the teen's face showed that he would almost have preferred certain death. Dark could do nothing but laugh. Even Aya was looking murderous, his hand straying dangerously close to his katana. And Daisuke-- Daisuke had looked up at Yohji with an expression pure as snow, and asked, very sweetly, who this Camui Gackt person was, please.  
  
After the initial chaos and several near-death experiences, the actual training got a little better. Not *much* better, but at least Krad didn't have to be restrained anymore. Omi had thoughtfully purchased a copy of "Darren's Dance Grooves," which Satoshi seemed to enjoy a lot. Dark didn't care much for American boybands, but, as he grudgingly admitted, they danced a lot better than V6. Yohji, with a face of complete innocence, suggested they buy Gackt's "Mars" live tour video. Yohji was undoubtedly occupying the number one spot in Krad's List of People to Kill Very Slowly and Painfully.   
  
There had been quite a squabble over who would do the solo bits, i.e., the fanservice. Krad was out of the question; Manx had hastily dumped a bass into his amrs, throwing pointed looks at Dark, the natural, obvious choice. The Kaitou twitched. Satoshi was staring blankly at the guitar Ken had given him... and Dark had *seen* that "Mars" video (it was stashed among Yohji's extensive collection of porn). And Dark *knew* what happened to Camui Gackt's lead guitarist.  
  
"Daisuke, you do it," Dark had growled. But Birman flatly refused, much to Daisuke's dismay. (Everyone had refrained from answering the boy's previous question.) The not-so coveted solo role bounced from Dark to Daisuke to Dark to Satoshi to Dark to Satoshi to Krad (God forbid) to Ken, and finally-- *finally*-- settled on a disgruntled Dark.   
  
"If Tohma doesn't like you, at least the girls will!" Omi had told him cheerfully. Dark slunk off to sulk in the corner.  
  
  
"15 minutes to showtime, folks." Kenji, the backstage manager, had stuck his microphoned head around the doorway. "Can you guys come with me to the stage? You can finish prepping there."  
  
All four band members gaped soundlessly at Kenji's retreating back. 15 minutes. Backstage now. 15 minutes...  
  
They all panicked simultaneously.  
  
"Fuck! Where the fuck is my fucking bass?"  
  
"Waaaah! Birman, help me with this strap!"  
  
"Goddamnit, Hiwatari! If you're going to throw up, don't do it over my new shoes!"  
  
"... Screw you."  
  
"SHUT. UP. *NOW*."  
  
Dead silence. Frozen in place, afraid to move, the unfortunately named bandmembers gaped at a now very, very intimidating Manx. Fixing them all with a steely stare, she uncrossed her arms and marched to the center of the broom clo-- dressing room.  
  
"Right. Listen up, you guys," she growled, launching into a schpiel not unlike a commanding officer would give to his unit of sniffling first-time soldiers before their first battle. "Fifteen minutes. In fifteen minutes, you boys will be marching out on stage. In fifteen minutes, you will give your performance. In *fifteen minutes*, this mission will officially begin." Manx paused dramatically. "This mission is not, in many senses, difficult. Kritiker, as we have told you in our earlier briefings, will do most of the dirty work for you. All you need to do is be good enough out there tonight to get yourselves inside NG Studios and report back frequently. You will be bugged, of course, and may be required to do some snooping, but your main job is to sing. And dance. And be hot to boot. Or else."   
  
Nobody tried to think very hard about what exactly that "else" was.  
  
"Now, Seguchi Tohma may be a cold, creepy bastard, but he's good at what he does, and he'll drink molten lead before he passes up good talent. You guys are *good*. You've worked hard and have come a long way. You've got what it takes, and Seguchi is going to see that. So go out there and knock 'em dead. ... *Or else*."  
  
*~*~  
  
Camui Gackt was bored. No-- Camui Gackt was very bored. Extremely bored. Filming had actually finished early. The fresh batch of 826,937 fanletters and marriage proposals had been answered and sent away. His display of sunglasses had been polished. He had called up his friends to invite them for dinner-- four days later. He had even bought the pork bellies, despite the sniggers he got from the vendors and giggles from various fangirls. And Hyde was out shopping for more leather pants-- no sex, even. He sighed. It wasn't easy, being a hot *and* sexy *and* insanely famous pop star.  
  
Running a many-ringed hand through his silky wind-swept hair, he lounged back in his Italian leather couch and switched on his 32" plasma T.V, sipping Chardonnay. Infomercial, infomercial, soap opera, news, commercial-- damn, he looked good in that one--, Doumoto Brothers re-run...  
  
"... Eh?"  
  
Camui Gackt, despite his perfect (naturally) eyesite, squinted at the screen. Ah, yes. It was that Bad Luck concert the media had been gushing about for the past two weeks. Gackt scowled. He'd felt so unloved... And stupid Bad Luck had broken his three week streak of being on the cover of all the major entertainment magazines. But-- what was this? Didn't Bad Luck have only three members? Oh. It was the opening band. "Pathos Missing Starfish," the announcer had introduced them as. Camui Gackt hmmed to himself. Never heard of them. He wondered if they would sound as delicious as they looked.  
  
The music began to play.  
  
Pathos Missing Starfish began to sing.  
  
The room was suddenly drenched with a shower of Chardonnay.  
  
  
Kimi wa seijitsu na moralist   
Kirei na yubi de boku wo nazoru   
Boku wa junsui na terrorist   
Kimi no omou ga mama ni   
Kakumei ga okiru  
  
Koi ni shibarareta specialist   
Nagai tsume wo taterareta boku   
Ai wo tashikametai egoist   
Kimi no oku made tadoritsukitai  
  
Kimi no kao ga toozakaru   
Ah boku ga boku de naku naru mae ni  
  
Ai shitemo ii kai? yureru yoru ni   
Aru ga mama de ii yo motto fukaku   
Kuruoshii kurai ni nareta kuchibiru ga   
Toke au hodo ni   
Boku wa...kimi no...vanilla  
  
...Nante kidorisugi   
Sonna cool na kimi wa plastic   
Atsui manazashi ni wa ecologist   
Sono moeru kuchizuke ga modokashii  
  
Yugande iku kimi no kao ga   
Ah boku ga boku da iraremasu you ni  
  
Ai shitemo ii kai? yureru yoru ni   
Aru ga mama de ii yo motto hayaku   
Kurushii kurai ni nureta kuchibiru ga   
Kotoba nante mou   
Kimi to boku not burning love  
  
Ah ikutsu asa wo mukaereba   
Ah yoru wa owaru no darou ka   
Ah sora ni chiribamerareta   
Ah shiroi hana ni kakomarete iku  
  
Ai shitemo ii kai? yureru yoru ni   
Aru ga mama de ii yo I've seen a tail   
Kuyashii kurai ni   
Kimi ni hamatteru no ni   
A crew sees crying knees   
I wanna need. Not betray!  
  
Ai shitemo ii kai? yureru yoru ni   
Aru ga mama de ii yo motto kimi wo   
Kuruoshii kurai ni nareta koshitsuki ga   
Toke au hodo ni   
Kimi wa...boku no...bannin da  
*~*~  
  
Kiwamura Chieko wailed tearfully. Running over to her friend, she waved the magazine in the air like a banner.  
  
"Oh my god!" Chieko sniffled. "Harumi! Did you see this!"  
  
"No! What is it!" Sakamoto Harumi squealed back.   
  
"*This*!" Chieko shoved the magazine in her friend's face.  
  
"Oh my god!" Harumi eventually gasped, when she had finally finished reading the magazine cover. "Gackt-sama is in the hospital! Oh no! Is he OK! What happened!"  
  
"I don't know!" Chieko had only managed to get through the first sentence of the artical. "But I heard he was in con-con-convulsions and frothing at the mouth and muttering stuff and stuff and twitching and stuff!"   
  
The two girls gazed mournfully down at the magazine, now laying on the classroom floor. "Camui Gackt hospitalized: Pop sensation has mysterious nervous breakdown" blared one headline. Underneath it, accompanied by a photo of a very attractive purple-haired boy, read the headline, "Bad Luck's concert a success: Opening band steals show with cover of 'Vanilla.'"  
To be continued...  
-----------------------------------------------------------  
  
... ::snerk:: This was an unusually silly chapter; more filler than actual plot. Cameo appearance by Gackt-- guess which was my favorite scene to write? XD Now, don't get me wrong, I love Gackt. I *lurve* Gackt. I'm even going to bear Gackt's love-babies, jeeze louise. But he's such a funny man, and it's so easy to make fun of him. A little explanation about the dinner/pork belly thing: There's a video clip I have, among many others, of one of Gackt's interviews on Utaban. On this interview, Gackt says that he likes to make curry, but it takes him four days to cook meals. So, he explains, he has to call his friends up four days in advance to invite them over for dinner. And in this curry, he uses pork belly, which he bought at Marusho (a cheap, thrifty supermarket) before it went out of business. This whole thing, dubbed "hidden meat," ensues. In a second interview a few weeks later, Gackt says that he couldn't go to Marusho anymore (this is before they went out of business) because everyone would point at him and say, "Pork belly... pork belly..." XD Ah, Gackt. If you want the interview, I can send it via Streamload. It's funny stuff. 


	5. Hush and Cool

Making the Band  
  
by Pales Megami (Lady_Ako@hotmail.com)  
  
A/N: Good lord. How long has it been-- five months? Six months? In all honestly, I completely forgot about this fic, and all other fics I had in progress. A hellish Junior year can do that to people XP This fic probably would have sat in perpetual hiatus had I not gotten this sudden spat of incredibly nice, extremely encouraging reviews. All those nice comments and words of encouragement made me feel so guilty, I finished this chapter, which is dedicated to all you wonderful reviewers, in four days. And I made it extra long for you guys, too :) Thanks so much to all those who reviewed, and kept this fic alive. Never again will it go neglected. Let's all hear it for PMS! XD XD Keep the reviews coming, and the song suggestions flowing. Let's see just how badly we can torture these poor boys D  
  
Disclaimer: Usual disclaimers apply. All songs and lyrics belong to their respectful owners, which do not belong to me either. Chapter title from the song by Guniw Tools. And I *still* have no money. Damn.  
  
Chapter 5 -- Hush and Cool  
  
-------------------------  
  
The heavy crashes and occasional screams could mean only one thing: A certain pink-haired someone was coming. In unison, the now very exhausted, very sweaty members of Pathos Missing Starfish turned their heads to the dressing room door; they braced themselves for the impending explosion. Stories of Shindou Shuichi's legendary limitless energy had long since spread to all corners of Japan, haunting children and adults alike with an intensity of which the Boogieman could only dream.  
  
  
  
"HI GUYS!!!!" The door crashed open, no doubt leaving a sizeable dent in the wall. A ball of pink immediately burst inot the closet/dressing room, draggin behind it its sulky blonde boytoy.  
  
  
  
/Ah. Poster-boy at last./  
  
  
  
//Ohmygodit'shimwhatdoIsayDarkhelpit'shimohmygod!//  
  
"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!!!!" Shuichi squealed, face all a-glow. "You guys were soooooo awesome!! I loved it!! Yuki, Yuki!" Shuichi grabbed his boytoy's arm, tugging him forward. "This is them! It's Pathos Missing Starfish! Guys, this is Yuki Eiri. He's he novelist, I'm *sure* you've heard of him!!"  
  
Yuki took a long drag of his cigarette, rolling his eyes. "That's enough, Shuichi. The last thing these boys want to deal with right now is your obnoxiousness." He blew a ring of smoke in response to Shuichi's indignant splutters. "We're going home now. Unless you want to walk back."  
  
"Oh, nononononono!!" Shuichi whimpered. "Yuki, you're so mean today!! I'll see you guys later we *have* to hang out sometime maybe we'll see each other in the studio tomorrow Seguchi-san said--" Shuichi's non-stop babble was pushed out the room by the blonde boytoy, who gave a brief nod and "Nice meeting you" before heading out himself. Just as he stepped through the doorway, he stopped.   
  
"By the way," drawled Yuki from the doorframe. "Did you know that if you abbreviated your band name, it would be--"  
  
"Yuuuuuuki~!"  
  
"God dammnit, you little brat, you're sleeping on the couch tonight," the novelist snarled under his breath, and shut the door with a snap.  
  
The five-minute whirlwind that passed left a heavy silence in the room. Shuichi's energy seemed to have zapped all will to move or speak. Good lord, Dark sighed to himself. And *that* as the monstrosity they were supposed to protect? The mission just got *that* much worse...  
  
"Well," he said finally. "I guess that means bad news for Kraddie-kins, then."  
  
"Watch your mouth, asshole," snapped Krad. "What the fuck are you talking about?"  
  
"Yuki."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So, it looks like you're not the Hot Blonde Bombshell of Sex anymore. Too bad."  
  
The ride back to the hotel was not pleasant at all.  
  
*~*~  
  
Krad leaned his head against the window-- a halo of platinum blonde glaring over the sleepy traffic ten stories below. He imagined himself gathering a humongous ball of energy and hurling it at the sun. Then the stupid sun would stop fucking shining right in his eyes-- *plus* everyone would be dead, thus unable to make him do stupid things. Yeah. That'll show them. Teach them not to make Krad do stupid things... The homicidal blonde decided the universe was conspiring against him. It was *so* unfair.  
  
"Tell me again," he growled, "why we're sitting in this office right now?"  
  
Manx threw him an exasperated look. "Honestly, Krad, we told you. Seguchi Tohma wanted an appointment with us, and it's very important that we make it. I'm almost certain he wants to negotiate a contract with us."  
  
"Oh. I'm so sorry. I must not have been clear." Krad sighed, silently cursing the conspiratory universe. "By 'right now,' I *really* meant 'at five FUCKING thirty in the FUCKING MORNING.'"  
  
"You know, I'd rather like to know that myself," yawned a tousle-haired Satoshi. "Why *are* we here so early in the morning?"  
  
It had taken twenty hired bodyguiards, ten Kritiker agents, and all four Weiss assassins to fight off the fangirl mass after the concert. A few dozen more agents were stationed around the band's hotel room-- thirty-seven unconcious fangirls were found in the bushes the next morning. Manx thought she'd seen it all: Swordfights, giant tentacula plants, gunfights, human chess, people-hunting... Nothing she'd faced with Weiss, however, could match the horror of the hell after the concert. Fangirls... She shuddered involuntarily. And a whole *mass* of them? Her skin crawled at the memory. And *that* was what they had to face after every single concert? The mission just got *that* much worse.  
  
Not quite recovered from her brush with the ultimate terror and eager to avoid it, Manx woke her still-exhausted band at four in the morning. They were shuffled off into pre-hired taxis, Kritiker agents at the ready the entire time. They probably wouldn't score high points with Seguchi appearance or mood wise-- Krad was spewing profanities by the buckets and Satoshi looked like a zombie fresh out of the grave-- but Seguchi signed bands based on talent. And they *would* be signed, Manx was positive of it. They had to be. Or else.  
  
"Um. Because there would have been a long wait, and we should see Seguchi as soon as possible," she half-lied.   
  
"But, Manx--" Daisuke's ever-innocent eyes were wide as saucers. Puffy, sleep-deprived saucers. "It's not like we have anything planned for today anyway, right?"  
  
"Oh, hush, you." She spoke in a tone harsher than she meant, but she really didn't want to drag the issue out anymore. She never was a good liar, anyway. Ken and Omi had been very firm about keeping the band's immediate fandom as covert as possible, and, in retrospect, she whole-heartedly agreed. It didn't take more than a few hours with the group to get the idea of each boy's nature and personality. For example: The impending knowledge that dirty yaoi stories about the band members would be popping up on the web probably wouldn't bode well for nerves as fragile (and obliviously innocent) as Daisuke the Pure's... or tempers as flammable as Krad the Eternally Pissed Off's, either. Satoshi probably would have retained his cold, apathetic facade. As for Dark-- well. Dark would have thoroughly enjoyed the fandom so much, he'd forget all about the mission and launch his own solo career a la Gackt.  
  
"Manx? Is there a Ms. Manx here?" A sharply dressed secretary suddenly appeared in the waiting room, clipboard in her hand. Manx rose and motioned for the others to do the same.  
  
"Yes, that would be me. And this is the band Seguchi Tohma wanted to meet with."  
  
"Ah, yes..." The secretary consulted her clipboard. "Pathos Missing Starfish. Very well. Follow me, please."  
  
/This Seguchi Tohma guy seems like one hell of a hotshot/ mused Dark as the group followed its escort. Indeed, the halls they passed through were floored with expensive-looking Italian rugging and lit with small crystal lamps. Here and there, a chic piece of furniture-- end tables, random chairs that looked too fancy to sit on-- dotted the silver-tinted walls. NG Studios may as well have been Seguchi's own mansion.  
  
//Well, he *was* part of Nittle Grasper. *And* he owns all those popular bands and stuff.//  
  
/I bet he's never gotten laid in his life./  
  
//Dark!// Daisuke blushed like a flaming sunset. //He's *married*!//  
  
/... And your point is...?/  
  
The mental squabble was interrupted by what sounded like someone attempting to gun down a fly buzzing around room. Both Manx and her band hesitated, wary of being shot full of bullets by a mysterious mass murderer, the secretary calmy proceeded towards a door at the end of the hallway.  
  
"Here you are!" she twittered above the sound of more gunfire. "Seguchi Tohma is in here and expecting you."  
  
"And waiting behind that door to machine gun the hell out of us, I expect," breathed Krad bitterly.   
  
"She could at least have given us helmets," sighed Manx, and wrenched open the door.  
  
Had they been anyone else, Pathos Missing Starfish and manager would be appeared in tomorrow morning's obituaries. Cause of death: Machine-gunned the hell out of by a trigger-happy bonde American.  
  
"FUCK!" Krad exposited from somewhere on the floor. Daring to glare out from beneath his arms, he came face to face with a pair of shiny brown shoes. His eyes glared upward, up, up-- and finally met those of Super Manager K, highly-polished magnum in his arms.  
  
"Welcome!" bellowed K, reloading his gun. "You must be the new band. Come in, come in! What are you all doing on the floor?"  
  
Nobody seemed quite sure how to reply. "Because you're going to blow our heads off, you homicidal freak" didn't seem too appropriate. Dumb-struck, and just slightly shaken up, the five would-be victims slowly peeled themselves from off the floor.  
  
"Tut, tut, K." All attention was turned to the swivel chair in the center of the room, its back facing the door. "Now really. That's no way to greet our guests, now, is it?"  
  
//Lookie, Kradders. Your American homicidal soulmate.//  
  
"Thank you, Ms. Manx, for meeting with me today. I'm very excited about negotiating with you--" The chair squeaked as its occupant turned to face its audience-- "and I look forward to working with you and your band."  
  
Seguchi Tohma was *not* was Manx had envisioned. She was expecting a Godfather-esque figure planted in that chair; the Seguchi of her mind wore ruby rings, stroked a fat cat that never left his lap, and whacked people with lacquered walking sticks. The Seguchi of her mind definitely did *not* look not a day older than twelve.   
  
"Um--" C'mon, Manx, pull yourself together. The mission! "Yes. Thank you very much, Seguchi-san. It is a great honor for us to be here, and I sincerely hope we will arrive at agreeable terms for both parties."  
  
Seguchi quirked a smile. "Well said, Ms. Manx, thank you. Now, then... If you'll take a seat, we can discuss a possible contract between NG Studios and your band?"  
  
/*That* is Seguchi Tohma?!/  
  
//I guess so...//  
  
  
  
-He looks younger than I do.-  
  
/I wonder how many birds died to make that jacket./  
  
=Eighty.=  
  
-Sixty-six.-  
  
/A hundred and ten. Daisuke, would you like to place your bet?/  
  
//... NO.//  
  
*~*~  
  
Seguchi Tohma's cherubic face maintained a steady, unreadable expression as he watched his newly signed talent file out of his office. He didn't even bat an eyelid when K cocked his gun and sidled out of what seemed like nowhere.   
  
"You're sure about this new band, then."  
  
Seguchi fingered the fringe of his much-debated jacket. "Absolutely. You saw them yourself, K-san. Talented, yougn... and good looking." He chuckled. "We've just been guaranteed the money of every adolescent girl in Japan."  
  
"And you're not letting me manage them," pouted K.   
  
"In time, K-san. In time. By the way..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Did you notice that if you abbreviate their band name--"  
  
"*Yes*."  
  
*~*~  
  
Daisuke tried his best not to sit too close to Manx, regarding her with a wary eye. His now official manager was rubbing her hands together a little *too* gleefully, her smile a little toothier than was normal. Perhaps it was an assassin thing. Having never odone this sort of thing before, Daisuke wouldn't really know the rush of a mission running smoothly. As far as he was concerned, all that really mattered to *him* was that he'd at least make enough money to pay for a tuition to Tokyo University. ... And that he wouldn't have to go on any more museum escapades. Yeah. Things were *definitely* looking up.   
  
The taxi ride back home-- *home* home-- was sleepy and silent. The only words spoken were Manx's, telling the group that Weiss would be at Daisuke's house for a debriefing, and their luggage would be sent along in a separate taxi. The exhaustion level was at the point where nobody really gave a rat's ass what happened to their luggage. The news of a debriefing didn't sit well with any of the band members, but noobyd dared argue with a Manx whose eyes didn't just glint, but *gleamed*.   
  
"Well, fuck," Dark grunted as the taxi pulled into the Niwa driveway. "I'd almost forgotten what our house looked like."  
  
"Do you think Mom was really worried about us?" squeaked Daisuke as he scrambled out of the taxi.  
  
"Nah. Just a little," answered Dark, and pointed at a flailing Emi rushing out the front door.  
  
It took many soothing reassurances and more stern Looks on Manx's part to pry Emi off her son. She latched onto his arm, crying and scolding, and followed the group inside the house. After being told the debriefing was "members only and highly classified," she bustled around the kitchen preparing a huffy lunch. The four Weiss assassins were already seated around the table; Yohji did his best to appear as inconspicuous as possible. Satoshi had told him secretly that he'd seen Krad's shit list, and that the playboy still reigned as king at the top. With a star next to his name. Sure enough, Krad seated himself directly opposite him, and spent the entire meeting throwing him glares of the very deepest loathing.   
  
"Ahem. Well!" Omi beamed around the table once everyone had settled down. "I heard you guys were successful in signing a deal. Well done, everyone!"  
  
"Yeah, great job, guys," grinned Ken. "We watched the concert on T.V. We were impressed."  
  
"All in a day's work." Dark yawned loudly and rubbed his watering eyes. "So, what's next? What do we do now that we're in?"  
  
"Well, the biggest challenges now are your upcoming record deal and concert. Seguchi wants you to start immediately-- the concert is in two weeks with Bad Luck, and the record deadline is a week after that."  
  
"That shouldn't be a problem," said Ken thoughtfully. "Everything's already been planned out. They'll have plenty of time to do all the snooping they want. Now, then," he continued briskly, tossing four packets of music onto the table. "Take a look at these songs. They need to be *perfect* for the party on Friday."  
  
"Party? Friday?" Satoshi peered at the ex-soccer player from over his glasses. "I don't believe we were every informed of a party that is in four days."  
  
"Party. This Friday. Four days. Okay?" Manx said grumpily. "Now you know. Like Ken said, it has to be *perfect*. If you don't impress Hiro, Suguru, Shuichi, *and* his boytoy... Just.. just do it."  
  
"Or else?"  
  
"Exactly." 


End file.
